It’s not my fault. Or, I’m not taking the blame, at least. I’m claiming temporary insanity due to an extreme overdose of emotions. Blame hormones. Blame the husband. Blame the damn phase of the moon. But don’t blame me…please. I’ve had a rough week. I mean, what girl doesn’t go through a bout of major depression? Sure, PMS shows it’s ugly face, the husband gets mad because he’s out of clean underwear…again…maybe the kids make a snarky comment about never having dinner at home anymore. I am human, after all. These things get to me. So I hide in my room for a few days…ok, weeks. I live in sweats and stubbornly refuse to shave my legs. Who am I hurting, really?
Myself, apparently.
After a fun night of karaoke, I was feeling more like myself. I was ready to leave the house. Ready to rejoin society. Ready to go to the grocery story.
Baby steps, ok?
So, I did it. I showered, shaved my legs, and dressed in a cute pair of capris instead of my sweats. My clean hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, my lips were slathered with a light gloss, and even my toes were painted a pale pink. I looked human again. Ready to face the world as I headed to the grocery store to stock up on chips, ice cream, and cereal. What better way to get back on everyone’s good side after a miserable attempt at a health food diet? Snack foods make for a happy family.
Admittedly, I wasn’t hungry for snack foods, but I wasn’t going to let that deter me. I ate before I shopped…the first rule of grocery shopping…and I leisurely browsed the aisles for over an hour, tossing various chips, ice cream treats, and breakfast cereals into the cart. Once I was satisfied with my purchases, I queued up to the check out line.
It was a long line, so I spent the time glancing at the gossip rags in the racks beside me, pretending I was looking at the gum, or the travel size hand sanitizers in the adjacent rack, shifting my weight from one foot to the next, out of practice after a long week of social avoidance. Something brushed against my calf, a fly maybe, so I reached back to swat it away, offering a friendly smile to the man in line behind me. That’s when I felt it. Something that most definitely should not be on my freshly shaved calves.
A thick patch of hair.
What the hell! There was a thick patch of hair on the back of my leg. Less than gracefully, I spun around to investigate, undoubtedly drawing even more attention to myself, and gasped.
I had missed a four inch wide strip of hair all the way down the back. This was worst than a little line of hair. The leg hair mohawk is almost expected, but this? No, this was a freakin’ toupee of leg hair. A thick, dark, rug of hair.
I was mortified…horrified…on the verge of hot, messy tears. But because I’m me and can’t help myself, I laughed. A loud, near hysterical laugh that had the entire check out line, and most of the produce section, staring at me. I couldn’t help it. If it had been anyone else, I would have laughed. And as I broke down in my crazy laughter, people moved ever so slightly away from me, as if I might be contagious. And let’s face it, laughter is definitely contagious. But as far as those things go, I’d much rather catch a bout of the giggles than a cold, any day.
I have no idea if anyone other than me noticed my gaffe. If they did, they weren’t talking. The lady who rang up my purchases gave me a little smile, as if she might be in on my secret, but really, I think she probably assumed by my purchases that I’d been smoking funny cigarettes before I hit the store. Little did she know, I don’t do drugs. I mean, can you even imagine? I had a few drinks at karaoke and the entire house was laughing at my lounge singer routine for an hour after I got home. But, hey…so what if I sing Sinatra at the top of my lungs…in my husband’s boxers and a holey t-shirt…on the back porch…after midnight.
Yeah, there will be no drugs for me!
Until the next time…I’ll be waiting a few days before venturing out again!